


Scarf

by marginaliana



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the scarf. [A little ficlet inspired by <a href="http://luluxa.tumblr.com/post/149900168236">Luluxa's gorgeous pic here</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarf

It was the scarf. Jeremy couldn't believe that all of his carefully-constructed walls had just evaporated, disappearing like the mist of his breath into the autumn air. But they had, and it was all because of the long, soft swirl of fabric that was draped around James' neck, one end hanging down in front over the line of his shaggy suit jacket.

It was blue – the exact shade of James' eyes. Jeremy wondered – in the moment of silence between the kiss he had hurriedly pressed to James' mouth and the inevitable reaction he knew was coming – whether he'd bought it for himself or whether it had been a gift, from his mum or a past girlfriend or even just a fan. James did that sometimes, wore or used things that fans had sent, if they struck his fancy. Stickers, once, with a little cartoon image of himself on them, and an ingenious tea cozy shaped like a cat, and various amusing tee shirts. The scarf seemed a bit too normal to be a fan gift, Jeremy thought, but one never knew. 

He realized then that he was blithering – not aloud but blithering in the privacy of his own mind nevertheless – in what was almost certainly an attempt not to think too hard about the fact that he had just kissed James in front of Hammond and Wilman both, about the fact that in an hour they were going to have to be in a tent with a shitload of cameras and a couple of hundred fans and pretend everything was completely normal.

About the fact that James still hadn't said anything – was just watching him with that slightly bemused look on his face as if Jeremy were a slightly old performing monkey on the edge of retirement who had mysteriously been discovered to have taught himself one last bizarre dance routine.

Which, he supposed, he sort of was.

″Say something,″ Jeremy demanded. ″For fuck's sake, May.″

James made a humming noise – and now those blue eyes were a little sharper, a little knowing. ″No,″ he said at last. ″Don't think I will.″ But before Jeremy could comment on the irony of that, James' hands were reaching up, grasping the ends of Jeremy's own worn flannel scarf and reeling him in until their mouths came together.


End file.
